


runaways at best

by ofhonorifics



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: D&D inspired, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, don't expect much, highkey bad at writing, still can't moonwalk someone help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25393090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofhonorifics/pseuds/ofhonorifics
Summary: I don't know if people use this anymore but it's way better than Wattpad so i'm back. This writing will probably hurt your brain so be prepared, and i apologize in advance. this is the unadvised and unfinished first chapter.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/David King, Nea Karlsson/Meg Thomas
Kudos: 8





	runaways at best

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if people use this anymore but it's way better than Wattpad so i'm back. This writing will probably hurt your brain so be prepared, and i apologize in advance. this is the unadvised and unfinished first chapter.

The last lock at the stable clicked, the worker's slim frame slipping onto the empty road. If not for the few lanterns tied on buildings, the male would have to rely on the moon's guidance as he wandered to the Inn. 

As usual, a pair of patrolling guards marched in the darkness, eyeing the worker as they passed. They seemed to still be glaring as they turned towards the jailhouse. It was not uncommon for guards to take in workers that were not human, as they are normally the ones to cause trouble. The elven male wore a hat to cover the part of him the guards despised. This was to keep him from trouble, his owner hated when he had to vouch for a worker to get them out of the jailhouse. 

Green eyes trailed to the tavern, a hopeful mind anticipating the doors open: though it seemed the building was empty. This would be the time his owner parted from the stone building, his drunken body tossing from side to side.

It was strange for the tavern to be empty at such an hour.

Hesitantly, the elf made his way to the tavern's small window. only a peek to calm his curiosity.

A man stood behind the counter cleaning his blade, the white cloth painted with red. To gather a better view the elf lifted onto the front of his feet, though, without his glasses everything was blurred. His eyes scanned the room, spotting what looked to be a body. Squinting, he tried to focus in on the grounded person, a soft gasp parting his lips as he was pulled from the window. The strangers hand pulled over the elf’s mouth, head turning towards the window.

“How much did you see?” The stranger’s voice was soft, obviously in an attempt to not alert the murderer. His accent was one of Serrant, very distinct within his low-set voice. Slowly, he lowered his hand to allow the elf to speak. 

“N-Nothing, I swear it.” The elf choked out, emerald eyes glistening as the torches light flickered. If not having grown in such a village, this kind of situation would have petrified him. Commoners to Guards seemed to find fun in ending the lives of workers: they were not short when it came to hands.

The man seemed to relax, his grip on the elf fading completely. “That accent. You’re from Haven?” The stranger tossed a few glances around, most likely watching for the patrol. “Then I assume you know of SF.” (( wn - workers from Haven plan to travel into Souven Forest to get back to Haven.))

“Pardon?” The elfs eyebrows raised, confusion taking over his once calm features. He had heard of the name, or, abbreviation. Many workers wrote about it in Druidic: one of the many languages he had grown to write in fluently. 

Before the stranger had the chance to respond, he was already dragging the elf around the stone wall, pressing his back to it’s cool surface, their faces at close proximity. The elf opened his mouth to protest and request space, but said nothing. It was clear from the loud squeaking that the murderer had exited the building. The sound of rocks grinding together sounded as they walked onto the street. The killer's voice revealed that they were in fact, not a male. She spoke in a tongue the elf had not learned, soft humms following. As the sound of her footsteps went out of range, the stranger's tense body seemed to relax again. 

“I can take you somewhere safe for the night's remainder, will you go with me?” The man spoke, voice still as quiet as before. He deemed it still not safe even though it seemed to be just the two of them. The elf nodded but yanked his arm out of the strangers grasp. “I’ll clean up and make sure the thought of a witness never crosses their minds. If you’re truly willing to let me help you, wait at the trade center.” The male peeks around the corner before heading to the window the elf had stood at. “The assistant that works there, her name is Nea. Tell her David sent you.”

Before the next sentence had ended, the elf already started moving in the direction the stranger instructed. He had no way of knowing if it was a trap or not, maybe that's why he didn’t ask questions. If it was a trap, at least his night would be more interesting.

Perhaps he should fetch his glasses before greeting said David once more. 

The man was definitely a Serrant citizen, his strong accent the dead give away, so why would he help a slave? It’s definitely not like he did not know the nearly blind male was a slave, it’s quite easy to spot, even at first glance: rugged, torn clothes, dirty bodies, starven frames. 

Gently, the elf shook the trade center's bell, something he had done a thousand times before. Only travelers and slaves were normal's at this center. “A moment.” A woman's voice chimed through the cloth walls, the sound of her shuffling over to open the cloth door. “Dwight, why are you out at thi-”

“Some guy named David told me to come.” The elf spoke without letting Nea ask her questions. Nodding, Nea moved out of the males way, allowing him passage. With candles placed around the near empty tent, the temperature was one Dwight wished he could feel all day round. 

“Ace still got you wearing that dorky hat?” Nea dodged Dwight’s explanation with a question far from the topic. “If he really cared about you he would buy you a change of clothes at the market.” Nea’s owner, Kate Denson, was always bringing in money and had the opportunity to take care of her workers. She treated them like family, and that got her frowned upon. 

“He cares about the public's opinion more than me.” Dwight cringed at the thought of Ace feeling anything other than greed. He’s not even close to being high in social status, yet his actions differ. Ace dresses well and eats better, but only when in front of the judgmental eyes of Serrants civilians. 

Instinctively, the elf’s head turns to the door, awaiting someone to enter. A perk of not being human: a strong sixth sense. “Nea?” The man from before entered the tent, eyes landing on the slave whom now wore glasses. “I guess you were not lying when you said you saw nothing.” A soft chuckle parted from his thin lips. Dwigth takes a moment to memorize David’s features. His hair is shaven, face spotted with specks of dirt, white shirt tainted with a dark substance.

“We’re not allowed to lie.” Dwight states blaitly. If a slave is caught lying, their life would come to a horrific end. David’s attempt to lighten the atmosphere seemed to have never happened. “What is SF and what does it have to do with me?” Impatient green hues panned between Nea and David. Dwight's slim arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the stone counter.

David's expression shifted, his unspoken language guiding the atmosphere into a more serious manner. “The people taken from Haven are planning to return. SF is the code name; they will have to travel through Souven Forest to go unseen.” David explains, hopeful eyes planted on Dwight. 

“Come with us.” Nea spoke quickly, offering Dwight a small smile.


End file.
